


Open Door

by aerynh



Category: The Black Tapes Podcast
Genre: F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-19 06:45:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14231586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aerynh/pseuds/aerynh
Summary: "Alex had done the right thing. She’d asked for separate rooms. A fat lot of good it did her when they were adjoining."Episode 206, what might have happened at the Empress Hotel.





	1. Adjoining Rooms

Alex had done the right thing. She’d asked for separate rooms.

A fat lot of good it did her when they were adjoining. Only a cheap hotel door stood between her and the object of so many late night editing bay fantasies. She could picture him on the other side of that door, unbuttoning his crisp white dress shirt and hanging it up. Then he’d switch to the Dr. Richard Strand version of casual clothing, a cashmere blend sweater that clung temptingly to his shoulders.

Not that it was helpful to think about.

She spent far too much time thinking about Strand’s body. When he’d leaned behind her at the check-in desk downstairs, she’d been all too aware of his very tall, leanly muscled frame. Of how he smelled like wool and leather and cologne.

She needed a drink.

She grabbed a book, a mystery novel she was supposed to be reviewing for a friend, and headed down to the hotel bar. It was a quiet night and there were plenty of tables, but she got a stool at the bar and ordered a bourbon. Let the bartender be the chaperone for her thoughts.

Thoughts which were at the moment totally fixated on one tall, mysterious, handsome-in-an-angular-five-o-clock-shadow-kind-of-way man who hadn't immediately corrected the concierge who gave them one room. Was it because he'd hoped she'd do the same? Did Strand want to spend the night with her?

There had been the rare occasion where she'd caught him looking at her. Watching her stretch to put on a coat, glancing as she bent over to grab a dropped pen. Not just polite eye contact, but the burning way a man looks at a woman he desires.

But maybe she was just imagining it. Projecting her own desires on an entirely indifferent, 20 years older man who saw her as nothing but a nuisance.

She sighed and took a long sip of her bourbon. Odds were, Richard Strand had entirely forgotten her for the night.

“What are you drinking?”

She almost spit out her drink in shock. _Speak of the devil and he shall appear, and this time I don’t mean Gloshclumantoh._

“Four Roses small batch,” she said. “On the rocks.”

“Sounds good.” He signaled to the bartender. “I’ll have the same, but neat.”

Damn. Strand hadn’t changed into the sexy sweater. Worse. He’d just rolled up the sleeves on his white shirt, showing his drool-worthy forearms. Strand wasn’t the type to talk about working out, but Alex was very aware that he definitely did.

“Dr. Strand. I thought you’d be asleep,” she said.

“In my seperate room? No, not yet.” He raised a dark eyebrow - he was teasing her. How had she unlocked teasing Strand?

The bartender set down Strand’s bourbon in front of him. He raised it to her.

“You stay in a lot of hotels for work, don't you?” she said. “How does this one compare?”

He looked almost disappointed in her for asking such a banal question. “Unless it's very cheap or very expensive, one hotel is like another. There's a bed.”

“One big enough for you?” The thought came out before she could censor it. Way too personal a remark. But his mouth quirked up in amusement.

“I'm tall but I'm not a freak, Alex. I can fit in any standard bed.”

“Right. Of course you can.”

She took another long sip of bourbon.

“Your drink of choice?” he asked.

“I'm usually a beer girl, but hard liquor seemed called for, considering.”

“Considering…”

“A writer drinking alone at a bar.”

His blue eyes caught hers. “You’re not alone now.”

It was definitely the bourbon. Because she’d thought about doing it a thousand times, but had always had just enough inhibitions to push back her fantasies. But not tonight. She leaned forward and kissed him.

Strand’s first reaction wasn’t surprise, wasn’t to pull back. It was to kiss her back, to reach one hand along her waist to settle at her lower back. His lips pressed against hers, a hair from too hard, so that she felt knocked back by sensation but not invaded by him. Dr. Richard Strand was a good fucking kisser.

She shouldn’t have been surprised. He was good at everything. She could imagine him making a study of it, observing how he kissed a woman, cataloguing her responses - what elicits a sigh, what makes her go limp against him, what makes her grab his thick dark hair and tug as hard as she can.

And she pulled away from the kiss with a gasp. Her eyes were wide, her breathing erratic. It was a little annoying to see that he seemed perfectly collected.

“I’m sorry,” she said limply.

At that, he looked surprised. “Why apologize? It’s clear that I liked it.”

He liked it. Dr. Richard Strand liked kissing her. Why did she like saying his full name so much? She was patently ridiculous.

“We have a professional relationship. I compromised that by kissing you. I should apologize.”

“We’re both adults, Alex. You can kiss me if you want to. In fact, if you’d like me to demonstrate how well I can fit in a hotel bed...”

She almost laughed. His pick-up line was so smooth, and the Dr. Strand she knew was such a nerd. Where did this come from?

Then his gaze dipped for the first time from her face, to linger on the V of her gray t-shirt. Alex suddenly felt very, very warm. She found herself wondering, ridiculously, was Dr. Strand a boob man or a butt man?

She had to answer him. She could still feel the warmth of his long fingers gently caressing her lower back. Her mind could so perfectly articulate how good it felt when he touched her, how good it could feel if he had free reign to touch her however he wanted. What her mind couldn't seem to articulate is a good reason not to. Which is why she found herself dumbly saying, “I can’t. Journalism.”

Immediately, his body changed. His muscles firmed into a straight, removed posture, and he leaned back safely away. “Whatever you like.”

She knew it was a bad idea, found herself saying it anyway. “What I like is different than what I should do.”

His face took on the usual expression when they have an argument - mouth tight, eyes narrowed, brows furrowed. Annoyed in a cute way. Stubborn in a cute way. She used to find it condescending when he would insist that she must be wrong, that she wasn’t being logical. Now she just found it cute. Oh boy. She was in trouble.

“We hardly have a traditional relationship between subject and writer. We’ve blurred the line many times before and I hardly think it’s affected the quality of your podcast. On the contrary, I think the development of our personal relationship makes your material more interesting.” On the word interesting, the edge of his mouth quirked up in a smile. A challenge for her to counter him.

“Don’t you think I have a responsibility to act as ethically as possible?” she said.

“You’ve recorded me without my permission, you’ve dived into my personal life against my will, and you’ve insinuated that I killed my wife on air. For once I’d like your breaches of ethics to go in my favor.” Then he grinned. Strand didn’t really smile much, but when he did, Alex felt like she knew what the phrase “weak in the knees” really felt like.

“You know what I mean,” she said. “You’re a professional. Haven’t you ever been torn between what you should do and what you’d like to do?”

Strand shook his head. “No. When it comes to sex, I always just do what I like.”

She really, really shouldn't ask. “What do you like?”

“What I’d like is to take you upstairs and lay you out on that bed and find out what makes your thighs tremble.” His gaze was direct, his voice quiet and deep. She couldn't believe how unwavering he was, saying these things. “I’d like to taste you. Everywhere. I'd like to run my fingers up your bare legs and to feel them wrapped around me. I'd like to fuck you, Alex.” And he leaned back with a shrug that was almost casual. “But only if that’s what you’d like.”

_Oh, I’d like that. Right now it’s the only thing I’d like._

She couldn’t answer. She gaped at him, mouth open, too shocked at the words she'd just heard come out of Dr. Richard Strand’s sexy, enigmatic mouth.

He sighed, as if she’d tried to convince him that an exorcism was real. “Alex, I don’t want to talk you into this. When I take a lover, she’s willing.”

Lover. Such an old-fashioned word. If she’d said it, Alex knew she wouldn’t have been able to resist slipping into the SNL parody. Lov-ah. But the way Strand said it in his gravelly voice, it was dead serious. And dead sexy.

She made herself focus as he finished speaking. “If you’d like to further what you’ve started, you know what door to knock on. If not, we’ll continue with our professional relationship, and out of respect, I won’t bring it up again.”

With that, he finished his bourbon and walked out of the bar.

 

His light was still on. She'd nursed the drink as long as she could, hoping she'd come upstairs to find her decision made for her. If Strand’s light was off, he'd be asleep and it would be rude to wake him.

But it was on. He was awake, and his invitation stood. An invitation that with every passing minute became more and more impossible to resist.

The fact was, she was wound up tight. The stress of not sleeping, of never finding the answers she was seeking, of the long hours an independent journalist worked, had pushed her body to the brink. The idea of doing something that would make her body just feel good - and she had no doubt that Strand would make it good - was too much to pass up.

Sure, her mind kept listing the litany of reasons she shouldn’t. But when Alex made a decision, she stuck to it. She was going to say fuck it to her journalistic ethics. She was going to sleep with the subject she'd fantasized about for so long.

But now she had another problem. What do you wear to a rendez-vous with a professor/colleague/sexy hotel neighbor?

She already had on black cotton panties and a pale pink bra - too late to wish she’d packed a set of matching lacy lingerie. She put on the skimpiest top in her suitcase, a black tank top, and kicked off her jeans. It felt strange to wear pants, knowing Strand would just be taking them off.

Strand would be taking off her clothes.

The idea was so absurd and so sexy.

She checked her reflection in the hotel mirror, and tousled her hair in a way she hoped looked like sexy bedhead and not just messy. And stood at his door. Staring at it. Scared shitless to go through with it.

Gather your courage, she lectured herself. And knocked.

The door opened immediately; it was like he’d been waiting for her. He was still in his gray trousers and perfect white dress shirt, though the shirt had been unbuttoned enough to reveal salt and pepper chest hair. His dark blue eyes took her in, traveling her body hungrily, taking in her bare legs and low cut top. She felt visually devoured.

“You came,” he said, his voice low.

She nodded. “I wanted to.”

And he reached for her, one hand going to her hair, the other to her waist. And he pulled her flush against him in a breath stealing kiss. God, it was unfair how good he was at this.

She finally got to touch him. Her hands ran up his arms, enjoying the hard forearms, the rise of biceps through his crisp shirt. The thick dark hair that felt surprisingly soft. Did Richard Strand use conditioner? She'd have to remember to ask him sometime he wasn't kissing the fuck out of her.

He pulled off her tank top, and his fingers along her side felt like lightning to her nerves. Then he was pressing her body against him, harder. The feeling of her bared skin against his clothes body made her feel vulnerable, revealed for him. Strand was going to have his way with her.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled her so she was straddling him. Through his trousers, she could feel an intimidating erection against her panties. She rocked against him and was rewarded with a moan.

Strand kissed her leisurely, his hands roaming her body in a determined exploration. Stroking the sensitive skin inside her arms, teasing around the edges of her breasts, making a determined study of her ass. She felt strangely proud of the pleasure she was bringing him. That Strand would enjoy touching her body, that she could make him hard.

He made quick work of her bra, discarding it and pulling her tightly against him so her breasts were pressed against him. The rasp of his chest hair made her nipples stand at attention; the warmth of his skin against hers, no barriers, felt so good it was almost decadent.

He bent his head to take her breast in his mouth, but he was so tall he had to lift her to her knees on the bed. His hands circled her waist to support her, the span of his fingers reaching from just above her ass to below her breasts. She arched from the wet heat of his mouth on her. Licking her, brushing her with his teeth, sucking on her. Hard. She could barely think, totally overcome with sensation.

 _Can a girl come from just this?_ she wondered.

Before she could find out, Strand picked her up, turned, and laid her on the bed before him.

“Alex,” he said, his gaze moving down her body. “You’re lovely.”

Lovely. It didn’t feel rote. Strand chose his words carefully, and lovely was a word he’d chosen specifically for her. She felt herself blushing. “Thank you,” she murmured.

Another man would have laughed at her response. Not Strand. Instead, he dipped his head and placed a kiss on her upper breast, setting her heart fluttering.

His mouth made its way down her body, kissing her sides, her hip bones, her thighs. Then he knelt on the floor, grabbed her ankles with two big hands and yanked her hips to the edge of the bed. He positioned himself below her, shoulders between her legs.

The scruff of hair on his jaw rasped against her thighs. His breath woke up every nerve ending in her sex. She could barely keep herself from squirming, desperate for his touch.

 _Of course Dr. Strand eats pussy,_ she thought, just before he set his mouth against her and every rational thought scattered.

His tongue moved expertly, exploring her, finding the pace and the motions that made her squirm. It was like he could read her mind, or at least her body. Every swipe, every motion of his tongue that worked for her was repeated, doubling down on everything that brought her pleasure. Arcing toward release, he revved her up and switched gears right before she went over the edge.

“You're enjoying this,” she said with a moan.

He kissed her thigh and raised his head. “Alex Reagan, there is nothing I would rather do than taste you.”

And he ducked his head and licked one long stroke across her pussy. Her fingers plunged into his hair, holding him to her, desperate. Her thighs closed around his head. His tongue moved furiously, bringing her higher and higher until she shuddered in an orgasm.

She felt light, floating. As her eyes flickered open, she could see his satisfied expression.

He stood and started to climb on the bed, but she put up her hands.

“Come on, Richard. Fair’s fair. Take your clothes off.”

He raised a brow and unbuttoned his shirt. His chest was hard and lean and frankly mouthwatering. But what shut her mouth was when he took off his trousers.

In general, Alex didn't enjoy an overlarge dick. From wine-soaked conversations with other women, she gathered most women didn't. There was nothing fun about getting stuffed and stretched by a man who had no idea what he was doing with his own genitalia.

She sure hoped Strand knew what he was doing because she'd have a tough time gripping his cock in one hand.

“Wow, Richard, you’re…really big,” she said.

“Yes. Is that ok?”

“Well, I guess you’re not modest about it,” she said with a tight laugh.

He smiled and joined her on the bed. “We’ll go slow. If anything doesn’t feel good, we stop. Assuming you still want to.”

She nodded. “Oh, I want to.”

He rolled on top of her, resting his weight on his elbows but giving her the full experience of his body over hers. It felt better than she could have ever imagined. He captured her mouth in a tender, open kiss, letting her control the speed of it.

She wanted to touch him. She moved her hand down his torso to gingerly stroke the head of his dick. He froze, like he hardly dared to breathe in case it made her stop. She circled his girth as well as she could, then moved her hand up and down from head to root. He drew breath through gritted teeth but let her explore as much as she wanted.

“Alex,” he murmured. “I don't want to wait much longer.”

He moved her hand away and slid a finger inside her, letting her get used to him filling her while distracting her by kissing the fuck out of her. Two fingers. Three. She squirmed against his hand, wanting more.

“Ok,” she said. “I'm ready.”

He moved his head to her entrance and met her gaze before he moved inside her with one smooth, deep stroke.

Alex gasped, digger her fingers into his back. She felt wildly, impossibly full. He stayed still, waiting for her to adjust. Then started to move. Slowly at first, then increasing his pace as her hips moved to match his.

“God, you feel incredible,” he whispered roughly.

“I thought you didn't believe in God,” she said with a grin.

“You might be the first one to give me a good reason to consider it. Nothing natural should feel this good.”

Her legs came around him, pulling him deeper into her. Inviting him to ride her harder and faster. The chemistry between them that has built for so long seem to have driven them both into a frenzy they were desperate to sate. Alex raked her nails lightly down Strand’s back; he retaliated by biting her neck, making her cry out.

“If you don't come soon, you're going to draw blood,” she joked.

At that, he rolled over so she was on top. “First, come again, Alex,” he commanded.

She tried to obey, moving her fingers to rub her clit while his hands roamed her body, caressing her and tugging lightly on her hair. His dick twitched impatiently inside her. She rubbed harder, so close, yet orgasm seemed always inches away.

“Come on,” he growled. “Come for me, Alex Regan.”

The sound of his voice was more erotic than any touch. Her body rushed to obey, shuddering in an orgasm that sent her thrashing on top of him, Strand coming right behind her, clutching her on a stuttering moan.

She collapsed on his chest, where she rose and fell with his deep breaths. She could feel his heart pumping against her cheek, its beats slowing as their bodies recovered. Strand’s remarkable, dear heart, beating steady and sure and infinitely calming. She couldn't remember the last time she felt so light.

“That was remarkable. I'm glad you came, Alex.” Strand’s deep voice was groggy with sated desire.

She smiled against him, and he tenderly stroked her back, the curve of her ass, the tips of her loose hair.

They both must have drifted into a light sleep, because they both opened their eyes at the same time, looking at each other with an intimate post-coital smile.

Alex rolled off him to put her panties back on and take up the space in the bed next to him. She felt self conscious putting all her weight on him. Plus, Strand didn't strike her as a cuddler.

But he did reach over and run his finger over her hipbone. “A tattoo. This is a surprise.”

She grinned. “My senior year of college. All the college paper editors got the initials of the paper. WW - the Whitman Wire. Most people assume they're a man’s initials.”

“I wondered that.”

“Nope. Just peer pressure and some junior investigative reporters.”

They lay in a companionable silence as Strand traced lazy circles on her hand with his fingers. Alex was shocked at how comfortable it felt, laying with him like this. If you’d asked her to imagine what it would be like to make love with Dr. Richard Strand, she would have assumed it would be intense and passionate, followed by extreme awkwardness. But while it had definitely been intense, it had also been - really fun.

She couldn’t help but wonder how often he did this. Did Strand have a discreet girlfriend in the time she’d known him? Well, no reason to suppress her investigative instincts now.

“Not to get too personal, but I was wondering something.”

He chuckled. “We’ve been pretty personal today, wouldn’t you say?”

“Since we met, have you, uh, ‘taken a lover?’”

“My little journalist,” he said affectionately. “Yes, I've had lovers since we met. But I don’t have one now, unless you count yourself.”

“I don't,” she said. “One tryst does not a lover make. But I'm a little surprised. I always imagined you as a loner, a stoic distant from human touch.”

“You know now I'm much too hedonistic for that.” His hand played with her fingers. “I admit I’ve wondered whether your journalistic enthusiasm would translate to the bedroom. I’m pleased to discover that it does.”

That made her perk up. “You’ve thought about this before?”

His eyes made their way up her body, lingering at her chest. Strand was definitely a boob guy. “Oh, yes. Many times. Have you?”

It was only fair to be honest. “Sort of. I’ve thought about your voice.”

“My voice?”

“You have a sexy voice,” she said. “I’ve thought about it when I was…”

“Touching yourself?” he finished.

She nodded.

“Tell me what you imagined,” he said. A gentle order.

She blushed. “You’ll laugh. But I imagined you...narrating me.”

He didn’t laugh. Instead, he turned on his side, leaned his head on his hand and looked at her intently. “Late at night, Alex Reagan lay in bed alone, wearing only a pair of black cotton panties. She couldn’t sleep. She needed to burn off the energy of the day. She needed to come.”

Meeting his gaze, she ran her fingers down her neck, between the valley of her breasts. His breath stuttered for a moment, and she knew he was as turned on as she was. Strand kept talking. “She touched her breasts, rolled them under her hands, pinched her nipples to make them hard. She was starting to get wet. She moved her hands down her stomach, to her panties. She used three fingers to touch herself over those perfect black cotton panties, wondering how long it would take her to soak them through.”

Alex felt like she was in a trance. She couldn’t tell who was leading, whether he spoke or she moved first.

“Her fingers paused at the elastic, then slipped beneath it to touch her skin. To rub her fingers over her clit just the way she liked it. Stroking herself. Her heart sped up. Her body trembled with need. And then was it apophenia, or did she feel someone’s breath brush her ear?”

She felt his breath on her ear. And then, Strand bit down on the lobe. Sensation shot through her body and her back arched. She was so close...

“But Alex didn’t stop.” Strand’s voice was rough; it was almost a command. She quickly put her hand back in motion. “Whatever unworldly creature had snuck into her room felt too good for her to stop. Let it watch, Alex thought. And she slid her panties down her legs.”

She gasped with pleasure, her fingers slowly pulling her underwear down her leg. Strand grabbed her panties off her toes, but didn't touch her. God, she wanted to be touched. She opened her eyes to glare at him, and saw him hold her panties up to his face and draw breath. Smelling her. It was so unbelievably sexy, she could feel her thighs get wet with want.

“Alex touched her clit then, faster,” he said. “More pressure. One hand pressed to her breasts, needing more. Needing to be ravished. She was so close to coming. So close to release.”

And she was. She was so close, so close, so close- and just as pleasure started to ripple through her body, Strand slipped one long finger inside her. She clenched around him, pulling her into a deeper, more encompassing orgasm than she should remember. She cried out as her body thrashed, chasing every last wave of sensation.

When she finally collapsed, she rolled her head to look at Strand. “You’re good at this.”

His eyes were heady. “When a man knows he has a fantasy to live up to, it makes him very motivated.”

He was hard again, his erection rising to his taut belly. She pressed his shoulder back against the bed and rose over him. “Lie back. It's time I made you come, too.”

Straddling him, she slowly lowered herself down over him. He was big and thick, and she was still tight from cumming. At this angle, just taking the head of his dick made her feel impossibly full. Slowly, she inched down his dick, taking time to adjust to the sensation.

He gritted his teeth together, stopping himself from pulling her down, from setting the rhythm. She grabbed his hands and pulled them up to her breasts. He followed her instruction, molding his hands to her, playing with her nipples. Shots of warmth flashed through her.

When she’d finally taken him in fully, she let her hands explore his chest. Touch the muscles she could now confirm were there and very warm to the touch.

He moved one thumb to her clit, circling slowly but firmly, making her inner muscles clench in pleasure. Her eyes fluttered closed as she moved in rhythm with him, chasing yet another orgasm. His body felt perfectly in sync with hers.

What sent her over the edge was seeing his cool blue eyes trained on her face, watching her reactions like she was his guidepost. His free hand clenched the sheet. She could tell that, gentleman that he was, he was waiting for her to come first.

And come she did. It felt like lightning in every muscle, cracking through her with massive, overwhelming energy and leaving every part of her body limp and feeling oh, so good.

He followed almost immediately, clutching her to him. Together, they collapsed back onto the hotel sheets. Her lips curved into an extremely satisfied smile.

He cupped her face in one big hand, his thumb brushing a loose wisp of hair behind her ear. His eyes met hers and his mouth spread in a lazy smile. It was surprisingly tender. The only bizarre way she could come up with to describe it was that she felt like her entire body had just turned into hot chocolate. He pressed a brief kiss to her forehead above her left eye, then a longer one on her lips. And Strand turned on his back and rolled her into his chest.

Within moments, they were both asleep.

 

Alex woke up to the sound of a shower. She blinked - the dark hotel curtains had been pulled apart by a few inches to let sunlight stream in. Despite the amount of non-sleeping activity, it was still more than she’d slept in ages.

She stretched across the bed and found her face near Strand’s pillow. And found herself smelling it. She sighed.

With the night of sleep had come a resigned certainty. Insomnia aside, Alex loved her life. She loved sitting in the studio with Nic, arguing about what interview best led off an episode. She loved how satisfying it felt to finally figure out another piece in the Black Tapes puzzle, and she even loved how annoying it was when everything turned out to be Sacred Geometry yet again. She loved drinking a steaming coffee and listening to Strand’s voice tell her not-a-ghost stories through her professional grade studio headphones, alone in the world with his baritone, like he was talking only to her.

If she kept sleeping with Strand, she’d forever change the terms of that life. How could she ask Strand about his missing wife while hoping he was going to come over later? How could she keep it hidden from Nic, the one person she knew she could trust without agenda? How would it affect her performance in her job, which she loved more than anything in the world?

_Then Dr. Strand explained how the monks faked their own deaths by demon, but to be honest listeners, I stopped listening because I couldn’t stop staring at his mouth. Did I tell you that he eats pussy like it’s his job?_

She reached over and pulled the curtains open, flooding the room with light.

She had to end it. And that really sucked.

She heard the shower drip to a stop, and took the opportunity to go back to her room for some pants. She’d thrown her jeans over her perfectly made, unslept in bed.

Seperate rooms. Yeah, right.

There was a light knock on their door.

“Alex? Are you alright?” Strand asked.

“Yeah, one sec.” She took a moment to collect herself, then opened the door.

Strand was wearing just a towel around his waist, his chest bare. His hair was wet, and he’d slicked it back, but hadn’t shaved. He smelled like soap and looked absolutely yummy. So much for collecting herself. Her jaw was probably on the floor.

“Good morning,” he said. His low voice was throaty.

She couldn’t help herself. She leaned into him and he cupped her face in his hand, giving her a morning, toothpaste scented kiss. She put one hand on his hard chest.

He reached for her waist, ready for round - what was this, three? She pulled back abruptly.

“I’m sorry, Richard,” she said. “This can’t happen again. Not if want to keep working together.”

A flash of disappointment briefly illuminated his face.

“I’m sorry,” she said again. “I had a good time - a really, really, really good time - I wouldn’t want you to think I didn’t enjoy myself, because I did. A lot.”

He grinned. “So I noticed.”

“But I can’t. Can we chalk this up as a really nice, one time thing? Please? I really want to keep working with you. The Black Tapes are important to me, and so are you.” She looked up at him through her lashes in an expression she hoped looked sweet instead of just pathetic.

Strand nodded. “I admit, I’d rather hoped this might be something we repeated. But I would never want you to regret your decision. I won’t bring it up again. Of course, if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

And he straightened his posture. In that moment, she knew he’d adjusted how he thought of her, from lover to colleague. No surprise considering his work, but Strand had always been good at boundaries. She knew he wouldn’t bring up their night together again.

She should be relieved. He’d left her with an open door. But she knew, she’d never been very good at resisting an open door.


	2. A Little Envy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after episode 208. Alex tries to make Strand jealous, and it works.

Alex was self aware enough to realize she was acting out of her own bruised ego. First, she’d been asked out for the first time in months - by a dungeon master who refused to accept her polite “no”s. And then, that call with Strand, where he’d talked about a friend. _She_. Deliberately emphasizing the gender while giving her absolutely no other information.

Neither had made her feel particularly confident, but she knew the adult thing to do would be to handle her emotions privately and not let them affect her work.

Instead, she'd acted like a bit of an asshole. She’d worn a low-cut black shirt to her interview with Strand because she was mad at him.

And because she was jealous.

And because she wanted to get a rise out of him.

It wasn’t journalistic; it wasn’t even nice.

But she had to admit, seeing Richard Strand’s face: it sure was satisfying. Behind his glasses, his blue eyes flashed with fire as she and Nic walked up to his table.

“Hello, Alex,” Strand said, his voice cold.

“Hey, Dr. Strand. What do we think, pancakes for the table? I could go for some pancakes,” said Nic, going over the diner menu. Nic hadn’t noticed her outfit or Strand’s reaction to it. It was one of the things Alex loved about Nic. She could count on him to look at her as a totally sexless blob. She felt full of affection for the curly haired idiot who looked blissfully unaware of Strand’s clenched teeth and narrowed eyes.

“Alex might not be hungry,” Strand said. “It looks like she has a date after this. 

Nic blinked blankly. “A date on a Thursday afternoon? No way.”

Strand’s eyes flashed with victory. Till Nic kept talking. “That’s not till tonight, right, Alex?”

Alex smiled sweetly at Strand, who looked ready to throttle someone.

“So, pancakes for the table unless anyone wants eggs,” Nic finished.

“Who’s this date?” Stand stared her down.

She met his glare with an untroubled smile. “He’s a friend of Nic’s. He's a musician.”

“By night, anyway,” Nic added. “Guillaume is an accountant by day.”

Strand’s eyebrows rose. “Guillaume?”

Alex kept her eyes wide, all innocent. “He’s French.”

“You speak French, don’t you, Dr. Strand?” said Nic.

“Fluently.” Strand all but spat the word. “Alex, is this good for your sleep troubles? I thought your doctor wanted you to take away stressors.”

“She wanted me to focus on things outside the podcast.”

“I think it’s a great idea!” added Nic. “Guillaume is hilarious. He'll definitely take you someplace nice and you won’t have to talk about demons at all. Nice change of pace. Ask him about when he rowed crew in college.”

Before his continued monologue could make Strand’s head explode, Nic’s phone rang. He checked the caller, then looked up at Alex. She could tell from his slightly dazed smile that it was a girl, one he liked - whether that meant Amalia or MK at this point, Alex couldn’t be sure.

“Hey, guys, I’m sorry - I have to run outside and take this real quick. I shouldn’t be long,” he said, and practically dashed to the exit.

Leaving Alex alone with the very angry doctor, who leaned back and folded his arms over his chest.

“You’re trying to make me jealous. Why?”

He was calling her out when she honestly hadn’t imagined him doing anything more than quietly sulking. So she listened to her first instinct: _deny_. “I’m not.”

“Don’t pretend. I would have remembered if you’d ever dressed like that to interview me before.”

“Like what, exactly?”

“Like you wanted me to look at you. Well I’m looking, Alex.”

His gaze traveled down her neck, lingered on her cleavage and then snapped back up to her eyes. Communicating too well that he’d seen her naked before. And it seemed like maybe he’d like to again.

She felt herself blushing. “I can dress how I like, Dr. Strand. I don’t choose my wardrobe for your benefit.”

“Of course not. If I had my way, your wardrobe would be considerably less.”

She gasped. “Dr. Strand, that’s-”

“Don’t say inappropriate,” he snapped. “You kissed me first. You came to my door. You ended it, then weeks later tried to use my attraction to you to make me do - what exactly? Don’t act like I’m crossing a line when I’m just acknowledging the truth out loud.”

He was right, of course. She couldn’t argue with him. Instead, she did something insane. She slipped out of her ballet flat and slid her foot up his trouser leg.

He just stared at her, the fire of anger in his eyes turning into a different kind of fire altogether. It seemed like they were both holding their breath.

“Pancakes aren’t here yet, huh?”

They both jumped when Nic sat back in his chair.

“No, we agreed wanted pancakes but I don’t know that we actually ever ordered them,” said Alex.

“In that case, we better start with coffee,” said Nic, flagging down their waitress.

 

 

 

Guillaume was handsome, alright. Tall, too, and stocky, with curly dark hair and brown eyes that always seemed to be smiling. He’d stood and pulled out her chair for her when she’d walked into the bar. He’d ordered fries and was courteous about sharing them.

And if she had to hear him describe another gig with his indie band she was going to scream.

“I don’t know if we’re big enough to have a rider yet,” Guillaume droned while Alex gulped at her beer. “But when you see the green rooms at some of these bars - I know it’s Seattle, but grunge should end at music, am I right? I don’t want to end up tuning my guitar on the same couch Kurt impregnated Courtney on.”

“I don’t know, I think you should. That would be a pretty cool anecdote,” Alex joked.

Guillaume looked at her like she was crazy. “It’s a sofa covered in jizz. That was gross, right? You don’t want to sit on that.”

It wasn’t worth getting into. “No, you’re right. I get it.”

“Anyway, so if we do get a rider, I would definitely want to ask for Butterfingers. I don’t want to be _too_ high maintenance.” And Guillaume was back into it. She was tempted to ask him about Hastur Rising, but to be honest, she didn’t want to do anything to prolong this date. Though on second thought, maybe it was worth asking him to come over. Listening to his stories might help putting her to sleep.

She felt a buzz through her purse. Instinctively, she checked who was texting her.

_Are you enjoying your date?_

It was Strand. She was wondering whether it would be rude to answer him when Guillaume said, “Hold on. I _have_ to find this video of us at the Tractor Tavern. You’re going to lose it. We’re _insane._ ”

Since her date was now immersed in the videos on his own phone, Alex felt it was safe to give in to her own. _Guillaume’s nice._

Strand answered immediately. _You’re bored._

_I am not!_

_Leave him._

_Why would I do that?_

_So I can make better use of your time._

She knew he didn’t mean research and tapes. The reckless side of her that made her eavesdrop and turn on microphones drowned out her voice of reason; if Strand wanted to see her, then she wanted to see him, too. But she hated being ordered to do anything. _People go on dates looking for things other than sex, you know,_ she typed.

After a moment, he answered. _Then I’ll buy you a drink first._

Was he offering to take her on a date? Or was he just buying her a drink before sex?

Either way, when she asked herself what she wanted to do with her night, the answer was clear. _Where?_

 

 

 

In her second asshole move of the day, Alex had Guillaume drop her off. He hadn’t seemed to mind, though. Apparently his band was having a jam sesh in the bassist's garage.

She’d been expecting the address Strand sent her to belong to a bar, since she’d been promised a drink. To her surprise, they’d pulled up to an extremely nice apartment building. Guillaume let out a low whistle.

“Dang, you live in a nice place.”

“Uh, yeah,” said Alex, confused. “Thank you. I had a lovely night.”

Guillaume sighed. “Look, Alex, you’re cool, but I don’t think we had a connection. If you want to hook up at the next Crescent Roll Moon concert, though, I’m always happy to get you in.”

“Thanks, Guillaume,” she said, relieved. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that.” She waved goodbye and strode into the lobby.

It was huge, with tall marbled ceilings. It put her in the mind of a European hotel in a James Bond movie. She double checked the address - maybe Strand had mistyped?

She approached the woman at the lobby desk, a lovely brunette in her early 20s. Her name tag said her name was Kavya.

“Hi, I’m supposed to meet Richard Strand? Is he here?” asked Alex.

To her surprise, Kavya perked up in recognition. “Oh, Dr. Strand? Just take the elevator to the 12th floor. Can I just say? He is so handsome, you are super lucky.”

“Oh, I’m not his girlfriend. We work together.”

Kavya lit up. “That’s great news! I mean, I’m sure he’s a great co-worker. He’s in 12B. You can take the first elevator.”

“Thank you.”

Alex could swear Kavya was humming with happiness as she walked away. She understood. Feeling like you had a chance with the world’s most crushable paranormal researcher - Alex knew how intoxicating that felt.

She took the elevator to 12, and knocked lightly. The door opened to a huge, open space apartment lined with glass walls, and to Strand, wearing a suit and looking delicious, if tired.

He took her in. She had changed for the date - the same low cut top but with a faux leather pencil skirt instead of jeans, and a pair of black heeled boots for good measure. Strand shook his head. “That unlucky bastard.”

She felt warm down to her core. “Thank you. You look good, too.”

He stepped aside to let her in. He gave her a wide berth, not touching her. Was that deliberate? She wondered why.

She walked inside. By the windows, a modernly furnished living room with big white couches sat lit by nothing but moonlight. Next to it was a newly refurbished kitchen, warmly lit. An open book sat on the counter next to the bar stool where Strand must have been sitting to read.

“Where are we, exactly?” she asked, unable to contain her curiously any longer.

“This apartment belongs to a movie producer I did some consulting work with, if you can believe it.”

“I can,” she said. “There are certainly enough ghost movies out there.”

“He keeps apartments in several cities. He gave me the keys for this one, told me I could stay here whenever I liked till he’s back in October.”

“Why do you think he offered it to you?”

“He knew my father. I suspect he thought I’d want a retreat from my father’s house and his many, many boxes of things.”

“Nice of him.”

“Yes.”

“When you promised to buy me a drink, I thought you’d be taking me to a bar.”

Strand walked leisurely to the bar in the kitchen and pulled out a bottle of red wine. “Purchased this myself, if you don’t mind.”

“Sounds perfect.” 

He took out a corkscrew and wound it into the bottle. Alex watched his hands work, a little mesmerized by the big fingers dextrously working to twist, pull, and release.

_You know you’re sexually frustrated when you find yourself jealous of a bottle of wine,_ she thought.

He poured her a glass and rather than handing it to her, he slid it across the counter. He was definitely avoiding touching her.

“So. Tell me about your date.”

“I thought you didn’t want me to make you jealous.”

“Well, I’m not jealous now. Now that I’ve won, I’m feeling much more generous.”

She scoffed. “You didn’t _win_.”

He raised a brow. “You’re sitting in my apartment wearing my favorite skirt.”

“It’s not your apartment and you’ve never seen this skirt before.”

He winked - actually winked. This was a first. “Still. Indulge me.”

“He was nice, and handsome, but dull. He didn’t ask questions and he talked about himself the whole time. And he didn’t want to sit couch where Kurt impregnated Courtney.”

“Well, if that’s a dealbreaker I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.”

“I’m surprised you know who Kurt and Courtney are.”

He sighed. “Alex, how old do you think I _am_?”

“Old enough to know better.” She reached for his hand, but he pulled it away to adjust his glasses. “OK, what is this, Richard? You haven’t touched me since I got here.”

He shrugged. “You told me you didn’t just want sex. And I knew the minute I touched you I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you.”

His eyes were so focused that she knew he meant it. She couldn’t help but laugh. “How do you _say_ things like that?”

“What do you mean?”

“You just say these wildly romantic things with such a straight face. Normal people don’t talk like that.”

“It’s romantic to say I can’t control myself around you?”

“Yes, Richard. It is.”

And she was in his arms again and he was kissing the hell out of her, a phrase he’d probably hate but which she felt was rather perfect. When Strand was kissing her, she didn’t feel haunted, didn’t feel tired. Just turned on.

“I like these heels. Makes life easier,” he murmured, running his fingers down her back.

“Don’t get used to them. I can't chase down demons in heels.”

She waited for him to tell her there was no such thing, but Strand clearly had other things on his mind as he pulled her flush against him. He was right, the boots did help with their difference in height. His kisses were deep, sensuous, heady. She threaded her fingers through his hair and held on for dear life. His tongue pressed gently past her lips. He smelled so good, tasted so good. She grabbed at his lapels, first to pull him closer, then to slide off his suit jacket.

It took him little time to divest her of her offending shirt, leaving her in a lacy black push-up bra. He looked from her lingerie to her eyes.

“I hope you didn’t wear this hoping your date would see it,” he said.

“No,” she admitted with a smile. “When I chose this bra, I definitely wasn’t thinking about him.”

He smiled wolfishly and kissed her neck hard enough to bruise. She cried out and grasped onto his arms. He slid one bra strap down her arm, tracing the line of it over her breast, heat following his touch. Her body just loved being touched by him. Her breath was short, and her bra felt confining. She gasped in relief as he removed it and palmed her breasts in his hands.

“I want to fuck you here,” he murmured.

“Yes,” she said.

Strand pulled down the zipper on the back of her skirt and eased it down her legs before placing it neatly over a barstool. Then he picked her up and set her on the counter. His hands went on either side of her, caging her in.

“You have amazing legs,” he said. “When we first met, they were so distracting.”

“Really?” Her face heated with pleasure. “I never would have guessed. You seemed so unflappable. And mostly annoyed with me.”

“You were very annoying.”

She laughed and put her arms around him, enjoying the hardness of his shoulder muscles. “I hope I’ve made it up to you.”

“Long ago,” he said, and she wrapped her legs around his waist as they kissed. His hard length pressed deliciously against her. She unbuttoned his shirt, fumbling with the buttons in her enthusiasm until he took pity on her and yanked it over his head. She pulled him to her, aching to feel him, skin against skin.

Before she could order him to never stop kissing her, he knelt - he was tall enough for his head to be between her legs. Slowly, he dragged the zipper down on her boots, trailing kisses along her skin as it was exposed.

He pressed his thumb against her pussy and stroked her through her panties, lightly, till she could feel herself seeping against him. That’s when he slid off her panties and set his lips against her.

She murmured a reluctant protest. “Again? But I haven’t done you yet.”

“If you insist, you can repay the favor later,” he said, and pressed a kiss to her inner thigh. “But I like doing this. And you taste so sweet.”

He pressed his tongue along her seam and she had no words to argue with him. She just lay back against the counter and let him eat her out. Strand was thorough, exploring her folds with his tongue before sucking on her clit in a way that made her arch. Her fingers thrust in his hair, holding him there.

She glanced down at him and saw his cool blue eyes trained on her, watching her reactions. He swept his tongue lightly, teasing her. Watched her bite her lip at the sensation. He followed it with harder, faster licks, and her eyes shuddered closed, unable to bear both the sensation and the sight of his handsome face between her legs.

He took his time, bringing her to the edge and then changing tact. She felt frustrated by his patience, and pulled hard on his hair, trying to direct him. That only made him go slower. She was dying for him to get her to come.

Her thighs tightened around his head, his thick hair brushing her legs. And when she thought she couldn’t get any more wound up, he slipped a finger inside her and sucked hard on her clip. Her orgasm erupted around them, her legs shuddering on his shoulders.

He kissed her thigh gently, then stood to lean over her. “I want to turn you over and fuck you on the counter. Will you tell me if you’re not comfortable?”

“You can be a little rough with me,” she said. “I won’t break.”

He kissed her then, brutally, his beard rasping her skin. She broke away to bite on his earlobe. He made a deep, throaty noise almost like a growl, then lifted her and turned her face face down on the counter, her toes brushing the floor..

The cool marble pressed against her breasts, sending her nipples into tight peaks. Behind her, Strand stroked her ass, running his fingers on the seam where her thighs met it. His hands were so warm, and she felt herself dripping with want. His fingers found her clit and circled against it. She ground against his hand, desperate for friction. When he slipped a finger in her, she felt simultaneously vindicated and like she might die from frustration.

“Please,” she moaned.

“Alex,” he whispered. The way he said her name almost undid her. Richard Strand was a man certain in his opinions. He always spoke with a brusque confidence - except when he said her name. The word always sounded like a question waiting to be answered. And tonight, she’d give the only answer she could.”

“ _Yes._ ”

He plunged inside her.

She met his rough thrusts as best she could, her fingers gripping the edge of the counter as he fucked her hard and thoroughly. It felt so good to give herself over to him and let him drive her over the edge.

She came so suddenly she cried out in surprised pleasure, her inner muscles squeezing him. He hissed out a breath through gritted teeth, and pulled gently on her hair.

“Good. Come again,” he ordered.

She gave a weak chuckle. “I can’t just do it on command.”

He paused to put a hand between them, to circle over her clit. “Then I’ll help.”

The pressure of his hand felt so good, like an electric current going directly to her pleasure center. She did come again, impossibly fast. He followed almost immediately, pumping hot liquid inside her, leaving her feeling thoroughly ravished. Another old-fashioned word perfect for what Strand did to her.

He collapsed on top of her, leaving them stacked in an odd, L-shaped pile on the counter. She couldn’t help but giggle.

“Something funny?” Strand’s deep voice rumbled against her back.

“I can’t believe I feel so relaxed with my toes dangling on the floor,” she said.

He stood and picked her up with a grunt.

“I can walk, you know,” she said.

“For now, you don’t have to.”

He sat her against him on the white couch, and they lay down pressed against each other. The heat of his body along hers enough to keep her warm. _Dr. Richard Strand, big spoon_ , she thought. _Who would’ve guessed?_

She felt her eyes closing and didn’t stop them. The both of them could use what sleep they could get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I really appreciate everyone who left feedback and kudos.
> 
> Also, I never write in peeing after sex because there’s nothing hot about that. But this is your mother, reminding you: always pee after sex.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I intended for this to be a one-off thing, but got ideas while I was working so at some point there will be more.


End file.
